Other boxers begin by sparring; he begins by fighting—and he never ceases to fight. He is as distinct from other boxers as a bull dog is from a spaniel. He is a fighting man. Every other American boxer, and from report, every English boxer, is of the sparring kind. Kilrain is a superb pugilist—strong, skilful, good-tempered, and a hard hitter. He is the safest boxer living, and next to Sullivan easily the best pugilist in the world. But Kilrain is not a natural fighter—he is too gentle. He waits to see what his opponent is going to do. It takes five or six rounds to get his heart at full beat and his nervous reservoir opened.
But from the first instant of the fight, Sullivan is as fierce, relentless, tireless as a cataract. The fight is wholly to go in his way—not at all in the other man's. His opponent wants to spar; he leaps on him with a straight blow. He wants to breathe; he dashes him into the corner with a drive in the stomach. He does not waste ten seconds of the three minutes of each round.
And look at the odds he offers—and offers to all the world! They are not ten to one, nor twenty to one, but nearer to one hundred to one. Observe, he will not only defeat all-comers, but he will defeat them in four rounds—in twelve minutes! And this is not all—he will defeat them with his hands muffled in large gloves.
